No, you never built the fire
That could keep me warm like you said,
But you sure as hell lit the flames
That left Lover House burned, love dead.

You painted daydreams in August,
Only to let them slip through your hands,
A cardigan left in the corner,
While you chased castles made of sand.

You swore forever like scripture,
But your vows were smoke in the air.
I was a mirrorball breaking—
You barely noticed I was there.

You were the archer, unsteady,
And I was the mark you betrayed.
Now folklore forests remind me
How fairytales quietly fade.

So when I hear our songs now,
They sound like a cruel disguise—
You promised me sparks and daylight,
But all I got were ashes and lies.